Yesterday's Clarity, Tomorrow's Madness
by ALC Punk
Summary: A new recruit to the XMen has ties to Sinister and the future that Bishop comes from.


[Original/X-Family] Yesterday's Clarity, Tomorrow's Madness, 1/1 Ana Lyssie Cotton  
Oct 05, 2000 03:42 PDT  
Disclaimer: All X-Family people mentioned don't belong to me.  
Neither do Sinister or the Mauraders. I'm making no profit from  
this.  
  
Notes: This started out as a silly/happy fic. It didn't stay  
that way. I can, at least, note that I did have X-Force on the  
brain. But, still...  
  
Dedication: I blame--dedicate, rather--this one to two people.  
Lynxie and Luba.  
  
Yesterday's Clarity, Tomorrow's Madness  
by Ana Lyssie Cotton  
  
So, dad sort of fucked up when he was building my DNA. Instead  
of being super-powered, I ended up withone ability. The  
Marauders thought it was a scream, apparently. Me, I was pissed.  
After all, what use is turning people red?  
  
That's okay, though. Without that little rebellious streak, only  
the Gods know what I'd be doing. Maybe helping dad take over the  
world. Or killing Apocalypse. That could be fun.  
  
Instead, I'm stuck back in the past, since I was stupid enough  
to think I was needed. Although what I hoped to accomplish I  
didn't know. Maybe I just thought it would be fun.  
  
I'm wierd like that.  
  
Although, it's not all bad. There are a lot of nice guys back  
here. Some gorgeous ones, too. And then there's Pete.  
  
Pete's one of those guys who would have been working for dad if  
he paid him enough. I think. Not that it matters, I just think  
he's sort of interesting. In a grungy-smelly-buy the 18 year old  
drinks kind of way.  
  
I came back to save the X-Men, but I ended up getting put onto  
the X-Force team. Oh, joy. The rookies. Except they weren't  
rookies. Not really. They had several years of experience under  
their belts. Not that I was as good... In fact, there was talk  
of throwing me to the little teenyboppers in Generation X. I  
stopped that by informing them of my parentage.  
  
Cable thought it would be good if he kept an eye on me. After  
all, who better to look after Sinister's daughter?  
  
But then Cable went sort of nuts and ran off. And Dom sort of  
followed him and tried to kill him. There was soem Twelve crap  
in there, too. I forget, though.  
  
That's when Pete showed. Apparently, Dom sent him to watch us.  
And watch he did. When he wasn't making us go through grueling  
training and starve. He said it was for the best. I am SO sure.  
  
Even with all that, I sort of like him. Sort of.  
  
When I'm not fantasising about killing him. Boot to da head,  
baby. Or a nice slit throat... Wrists? Nah, too messy.  
  
Except... He's dead now. Bullet to the head--POW! No  
ressurection, although dad's clone tanks might be useful. If I  
could get there in time. But I can't.  
  
It's really irritating, too. 'Cause Sam won't buy me booze.  
Tippling hick.  
  
Not that it matters. In two years dad's gonna kidnap various  
members of the X-teams to steal my DNA. Oh joy. Wonder if I'm my  
own mother?  
  
It could be worse, of course. I could be living on the street  
and selling myself. Not that it would get that far, especially  
since I certainly don't mind killing people for cash. A few  
knife fights, and, BAM, I'm at the top and rolling in dough.  
  
Sounds fun, sometimes. As compared to the relentless boredom of  
hanging with the X-types. All they do is get in battles and then  
get yelled at. And scorned and hated as they fight to protect a  
world that... wait for it... fears and hates them.  
  
Mindless is what they are. Stuck on this ideal that will never  
be fulfilled, not as long as they live, nor as long as their  
childrens childrens children are alive. Sad, really. All this  
effort, for nothing.  
  
Not that I'm any better, considering I'm aiding and abetting  
them so that I can stop my own birth.  
  
Why?  
  
My life sucks. My name is constantly misspelled, I have no  
useful powers, and my dad is an evil mad geneticist. Plus, he  
works for Apocalypse.  
  
Not things that are conducive to getting a job. They look awful  
on a resume. Not that I'd know, since I don't even have a social  
security number.  
  
I don't exist, here. I won't, either.  
  
And all they have to do is cooperate. And die tonight.  
  
That's why I'm recording this, you see. It's the last account of  
an X-person, in an attempt to explain why they died.  
  
Not that I think it will ever get published or see the light of  
day--you fucking politicians are like that. Freedom of speech is  
a farce, and everyone knows it.  
  
No, I'm recording this for myself. So that if I survive, I'll  
know I didn't succeed.  
  
Hear that, me? I didn't succeed. You have to do it again.  
  
Again.  
  
Again.  
  
...  
  
=====  
'Innuendo and out the other. (Acetal)'  
http://members.xoom.com/_XMCM/LysAna/index.htm 


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